


The Smoke Clears When You're Around

by Destinyllama



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Gender Identity, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Trans Jonah Magnus, Trans Jonathan Fanshawe, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, jonathan and jonah are unabashedly horny for each other, period typical terms for mlm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destinyllama/pseuds/Destinyllama
Summary: Their eyes lock as Jonah holds up a match, a brief moment of intimacy in the slow and intentional act of service to a friend. There's an unspoken mutual understanding between the two men in that gaze. 'Yes, I'm just like you,' it says, 'You can let down your guard for once.'
Relationships: Jonathan Fanshawe/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 10
Kudos: 78
Collections: Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus





	The Smoke Clears When You're Around

**Author's Note:**

> Some general notes:  
> This fic uses the words "cock" and "cunt" for transmasc genitalia.  
> Historical terms for queer men are used, and there's a reference to historical criminal punishment inflicted on queer men.  
> Jonah and Jonathan's referenced first meeting is the first chapter of spiraldistortion's fantastic fic, ["yours, the evil eye; yours, the slanderous tongue"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113503/chapters/58049695).
> 
> Thanks to the Eye Horror and Jonah discord servers for encouraging me, giving me advice, and enabling me.  
> Thanks to [@spiraldistortion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualthorin/pseuds/spiraldistortion) for letting me reference his fic. He's a continual inspiration to me, and I highly suggest you check out his content!
> 
> The title comes from "Curses" by The Crane Wives, because I can't think of titles.

For all Jonah Magnus’s… Peculiarities, Dr. Jonathan Fanshawe doesn’t find the prospect of sharing a meal with him off putting. In fact, he is, regrettably, fascinated by the man in a way he rarely is by others. Jonah's parting words during their first encounter had irrevocably fixed that fascination in his mind.

_I see you, Jonathan._

Jonah had first contacted him about one of Jonathan's stranger surgeries, the extraction of a fully formed eye from a teratoma. The doctor had submitted a description of the operation to _The New England Journal of Medicine_. Jonah’s letter and their subsequent meeting had portrayed a curious and intelligent man with a strong interest in the macabre.

_“Men such as we—men of our…_ disposition _are certainly accustomed to a particular sense of loneliness in life. To be known by others is to take a great risk; to be close to them is to play a deadly dangerous game indeed. But I see you, Jonathan, and I am no more a threat to you than you are to me.”_

The implication had been clear, that they had similar… Preferences. Still, it had still left Jonathan shaken. Magnus had a high, gentle voice, a delicate manner, and a beardless face, but these all could be easily dismissed as the trappings of aristocracy. Surely… He had only meant that they both slept with men. He had no way of knowing Jonathan's… Feminine upbringing.

No, it was clear that Jonah Magnus was merely, like Dr. Fanshawe, attracted to men. Jonathan was well aware of the rumors about dandies, about those who followed in the fashion of Beau Brummel and the other confirmed bachelors that surrounded the Prince Regent. And Jonah Magnus seemed, if nothing else, fashionable.

That left Jonathan incredibly frustrated. Had his sexuality really been that obvious? He sighed because, yes, yes it had been. When Magnus first entered his office, Jonathan had been caught off guard. He certainly hadn’t expected the boyish, handsome thing that entered, with his fiery hair, sharp green eyes, and knowing smile, and Jonah had _noticed_ that. Noticed his nervousness, noticed the way his gaze lingered on those small, smooth hands, lightly calloused in places from frequent writing. His attraction was recognizable, and that was _dangerous_.

Still, when Dr. Fanshawe was invited to dinner by Mr. Magnus, he accepted. When he saw Jonah at parties, the few he attended because it was what men of his class _did_ , he would stick close to the man, soaking up his pleasant chatter and endless tales of the occult. Jonathan had even become acquainted with a few of Jonah's friends. In particular, he had gotten into a fascinating discussion with a Mr. Barnabas Bennett about ancient medical practices.

The next time Jonathan is invited to dinner by Jonah, he eagerly accepts. Their meal is pleasant and comfortable, punctuated by the engaging conversation he had come to expect from the man. After the meal, they sit down in the parlor, on either end of the same couch, and enjoy a digestif. The momentary lull in conversation allows Jonathan’s mind to wander back to that ever present danger: exposure. He decides he would broach the topic, carefully, and see if Jonah had truly been implying what he suspected.

“I was, um… Do you know how long Mr. Bennett will be in London?”

“He should be staying until the end of the month, I believe... You two appeared to get along well during Robert’s last party…” Jonah smiles knowingly, rifling through his pockets for his matches, “What were you talking about, again?”

“Trepanning.”

“Yes--isn’t that fascinating?” Jonah lights the end of his cigar and takes a puff, “Barnabas has an extraordinary talent for engaging conversation. He’s quite the story teller, too. I think you two would make excellent friends.”

“And, um…” Jonathan licks his lips, quiet with his next statement, “...He has such distinctive eyes…”

“Yes, blue as The Long Water on a summer day…” Jonah says wistfully, slipping seamlessly into conversation about the man’s appearance, “...And have you noticed the way they light up when he’s discussing his interests? The man’s so animated; he speaks with his hands…”

“...His hands are, ah…”

“...Large, I know. Strong… But his touch is remarkably soft…”

“...Y-Yes…” Jonathan bites his lip.

That… Sinches it, doesn’t it? That observation can only mean one thing--that Jonah was paying attention to Barnabas in the same way Jonathan was.

“Jonah, I’ve been wondering something… For a very long time…” The Doctor takes a deep breath, adjusting his glasses, "...Are you a sodomite?"

"Subtle as always, Dr. Fanshawe," Jonah puffs out a cloud of cigar smoke and absentmindedly rolls the thing between his fingers, "...Would you like one?"

Jonathan nods, and Jonah presents the box for Jonathan to pick his own. Their eyes lock as Jonah holds up a match, a brief moment of intimacy in the slow and intentional act of service to a friend. There's an unspoken mutual understanding between the two men in that gaze. 'Yes, I'm just like you,' it says, 'You can let down your guard for once.'

"...I daresay I'm guilty of worse than buggery, Doctor," Jonah says thoughtfully, nostalgic.

Jonathan chuckles, because he thinks it's a joke, but then he notices the stern expression on Jonah's face. He thinks about the uncomfortable compression against his chest and suddenly becomes very stern himself.

"You can't possibly be worse than me…" Jonathan mutters.

"I was raised a woman," Jonah says in a moment of uncharacteristic bluntness, and Jonathan's blood freezes, "And I hated every damnable second of it."

"Ah, I, uh, uh--" Jonathan's mouth is dry, fuck, why is it so dry. He reaches for his glass of spirit, and it shakes wildly in his hands. He can hardly keep it steady as he raises it to his lips; the whole thing is downed without thinking, burning his throat. And Jonah's hand, oh god, Jonah's hand is on his knee, why is Jonah so close--

"Jonathan," His voice is sweet, melodious, "I've given you my assurance that I will be discrete. One of your secrets for one of mine."

Jonathan's eyes are wide and panicked, his heart beating so rapidly that he's certain that it will burst. But… He understands.

"...Mutually assured destruction."

"Precisely," Jonah moves his hand away, "I trust you'll offer me the same courtesy."

That calms the doctor somewhat, and he nods in understanding. Several minutes of uncomfortable silence pass, enough for him to calm himself. Enough for the alcohol and nicotine to kick in.

“Imagine that, both of us sodomites,” Jonathan chuckles darkly, “And secretly--”

“Don’t say women,” Jonah scrunches his nose, “We’re not women, Jonathan. We’re men of a particular persuasion. We’ve never been women, regardless of what we’ve both been told. There are far stranger, darker things in the world than men with breasts, Dr. Fanshawe, and society would do well to realize that.”

“Yes, I suppose so…”

“...At least we can safely be ourselves in our own little corner of Britain. I find the company of close minded men to be painfully boring. Fortunately, there are enough confirmed bachelors of our social standing to keep me entertained.”

A slideshow of faces and names move through Jonathan’s mind. How many of Jonah’s friends are secretly like them? Which did he meet and not even notice their hidden comradery?

"Mr. Bennett--?"

Jonah laughs immediately, turning toward his companion, one leg hanging lazily off the couch. There's the Jonah Jonathan's seen at parties, mouth upturned in a mischievous grin, eyes glinting, like he's saying something awful and knows you adore him for it.

"If you and I would be in the pillory if found out, Dr. Fanshawe, then Barnabas Bennett ought to be _hanged_ ," Jonah smirks, taking a drag from his cigar, "The man is _disgustingly_ smitten with me. Were I, forbid the thought, _murdered_ \--"

"An increasingly likely fate given your tongue," The doctor finds himself smirking.

"Hush, you," Jonah grins back, "--Yes, were I murdered, Barnabas would no doubt drag the perpetrator's body behind his chariot for the following 12 days."

"Barnabas would make a pisspoor Achilles."

"Oh my god, could you imagine that gentle thing in battle?" Jonah's eyes widen as he takes a sip of spirit, "How would he kill the Trojans? By talking them to death?"

Jonah pauses to take another sip, pouting in consideration, "...He would look fantastic in armor, though."

An awkward pause, as Jonathan considers satiating his curiosity.

“Um… Have you and Barnabas--”

“Fucked?” Jonah snorts, “Of course. I’ve never been afraid of indulging myself with men I find attractive.”

An implicating grin slowly creeps over Jonah’s face, “...Why do you ask?”

Jonathan’s face instantly flushes, and he avoids Jonah's eyes like the plague, "...And he still views you… Views you like a man…"

"I wouldn't have bedded him if he didn't," Jonah smirks, crushing the last of his cigar in an ashtray, "...You haven't had many positive encounters with men, have you, Jonathan?"

"Not with ones that… Knew my status."

"And am I correct in assuming I'm the only man of our particular sort you've ever met?"

"Yes…"

Jonah offers him the ashtray, and he deposits the remains of his own cigar. Jonah puts the ashtray back and suddenly everything is moving so slowly. Jonathan sees the other leaning towards him, feels that gentle hand turning his head. And those delicate pink lips are pushing against his and he's _floating_. It's a short kiss, but Jonathan wants more.

"...We're not something shameful, Jonathan. Other men ought to accept our bodies for what they are: _beautiful_ …" Jonah murmurs, "...Would you like me to show you just how beautiful I find you..?"

  
  


* * *

  
  


As Jonathan walks through the doorway into Jonah’s rented bedroom, he realizes he has no idea what he’s doing. Jonah’s already fussing, locking the door, lighting the lamps, closing the blinds, and Jonathan is standing there like an oaf, thinking about his back-alley blowjobs and failed trysts in the army. Then Jonah is standing there confidently, one hand on his hip, smirking at Jonathan like he’s aware that Jonathan is completely undeserving of him.

“Well, Doctor… I’d like you to undress me.”

"Oh, uh, yes, of course."

Jonathan scurries up to Jonah, hands shaking, and starts slipping that elegant green jacket off his shoulders. The shorter man wordlessly gestures to a wardrobe, and Jonathan takes great pains carefully hanging the article up. Everything Jonah wears is so fine, and he would hate to wrinkle it. Of course, while clumsily undoing the other’s vest, he realizes that wrinkles are going to happen regardless.

Jonah rests his wrists on Jonathan’s shoulders, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “...You’re tense, Doctor. You can relax.”

“...Can you blame me?” Jonathan’s fingers fumble over those damn pants buttons. Why do pants have so many buttons? “I’m about to sleep with an incredibly attractive man, and I have no idea what I’m doing… God, bloody fucking buttons…”

Jonah grabs his jaw, and stares at him with an intensity that makes Jonathan’s breath stutter.

“I brought you into my bedroom, didn’t I?”

“You did…”

“And I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think you would be…” Jonah smirks, “...Satisfactory.”

Jonah pauses while Jonathan pulls off the man’s vest and cravat, “...Besides, sometimes I like taking the lead.”

Jonathan nods, Jonah’s clothing draped over his arm. He slows as he unlaces Jonah’s shirt and sees the bindings underneath. It reminds him of his own condition. Jonah kicks off his shoes and moves to sit on the bed as Jonathan hangs up the shirt, the vest, the pants, the cravat… There, all neat. Jonah is pulling off his own stockings, and Jonathan still feels considerable unease when he looks at the delicate gentleman on the bed, clothed in just his bindings and drawers. Jonah feels no such unease, apparently, and pats the spot next to him. His companion, of course, silently complies and adjusts his glasses.

“...Would you like to see me?” Jonah asks.

"Yes, I, um…"

Jonathan places his hands on Jonah's’s chest but hesitates. Bindings are Jonathan's protection, a shield between himself and the world. Removing them, even from another, feels like Jonathan is making himself vulnerable. He's revealing something of himself, a piece that he's had to constantly bury under harsh stoicism and layers of heavily starched cotton. Still, he yields when Jonah's delicate fingers guide him to undo the bandages.

Jonah's chest heaves as they come undone, freed from its confines, fully able to extend. Jonathan is surprised by the glint of metal adorning his lover's nipples, and he must show it, because Jonah chuckles.

"Do you like them?”

“I think they fit you quite well... “ Jonathan replies, lost in thought as he runs his thumbs over the twin peaks.

And he doesn’t know what he was expecting. There was a horrible dread inside Jonathan, a fear that seeing someone like himself would undo him in some way and make it impossible for him to ever hide again. Instead, it’s… Freeing. Jonah slips off his drawers, and Jonathan sees a reflection of himself. Undeniably, this is a man lounging before him, confident, proud of his body, dainty yet wholly, undeniably masculine.

“And now it’s my turn…”

“Y-Yes…”

Jonathan’s nose presses into auburn hair as Jonah undoes his cravat. His hands fit perfectly against the curves of the other’s waist, remarkably so, and all he can do in response is to sigh in contentment. He feels comfortable as his lover undresses him. Feels safe--which is so, _so_ rare for him to feel during sex. To feel at all. And when Jonah has him down to just his bindings and drawers, he feels relief. Jonah isn’t going to be surprised by what’s underneath. Jonah already knows, because his body is the same.

“They’re, um, not very much to look at…” Jonathan says quietly, pulling the last of his clothing off his chest, “...N-Not compared to yours, of course.”

“They’re perfect…” Jonah purrs and takes one flushed peak into his mouth.

Jonah’s tongue rolls over his nipple, and he's certain Jonah is going to kill him. Those small, graceful fingers that he had spent so much time staring at cup his other breast and _squeeze_ , and it shoots straight to his cock.

"W-Wait… Wait, just let me look at you before…"

Jonah is perplexed but concedes, sitting close to Jonathan with his hand on the other's knee. The doctor's hand cups his cheek, moves its fingers to trace his soft jawline, brush over those slightly parted lips. Down the curve of that serpentine neck, between those pale, freckled breasts… He spreads his hand there, and his long, slender surgeon’s fingers seem so large and clumsy against that elegant chest.

“...You really are like me.”

“I told you I was,” Jonah lifts an eyebrow, “Did you think I was lying?”

“Maybe…” Jonathan sighs, rubbing his thumb against that soft skin, “...I thought I was the only one.”

“You know that isn’t true; you live in London, Darling.”

“I know, I know…” Jonathan is distant, “...But I still feel so terribly alone…”

Jonah places his hand on the doctor’s cheek and smiles. There’s something genuine and somber in those usually guarded eyes.

Hesitantly, Jonathan speaks, "When did you realize? That I was…"

And Jonah knows what Jonathan is really asking. That sharp glint in his eye that says 'tell me what gave me away, so that I can rip it out and never be scrutinized again.'

"...Your determination raised my suspicions," He traces a finger along Jonathan's sharply cut jaw, "When I saw how willing you were to work yourself raw for every tiny recognition… I knew we were the same."

Jonathan isn't surprised. He simply nods slowly and looks away. But Jonah's gentle fingers cup his chin, and he's forced to look down into those bright green eyes.

"...We both had to fight for the barest modicum of respect."

The doctor's eyes are half lidded; his breathing relaxes. Jonah's words are soothing, as they always are, and they make Jonathan feel like he could dive into those twin emerald pools, stay forever in that calming world where only Jonah exists.

"Why do you always do this to me…" Jonathan mutters, and Jonah instantly knows what he means, because Jonah always knows what he means.

"Because I _know_ you, Jonathan," He's cupping Jonathan's face with both hands now, "I can see you for what you _are_."

The doctor’s mouth curves into a severely clenched pout, and his brows furrow with deep, painful emotion. He doesn’t want to cry, god, he never wants to cry, but the tears are stinging at the edges of his eyes, and Jonah is cooing at him to try to calm him down.

“I’m sorry, Jonah, I’m so sorry… I just--I can’t…”

“No, no, darling, no, look at me, Jonathan, look at me--”

But Jonah’s mouth is twitching too, and those freckled cheeks are bright red as tears begin to stain them. Jonathan grabs Jonah, curls his arms around that small frame, pulls him into a comforting embrace. They can both let their carefully crafted masks down, just for a few minutes. Jonathan can struggle to breathe between sobs and feel the man in his arms shudder too. They can be vulnerable with each other. They can be seen and known and unjudged. They can simply focus on each other, on the tight warm comfort of each other’s arms, on the press of naked skin against skin. And when Jonah pulls away, he doesn’t have to feel embarrassed about how he’s shaking with emotion, because Jonathan is doing the same.

His hands reach up to cup Jonathan’s face, and he pulls him into a tender kiss. They part their lips, and it’s slow and intimate and sad. And that’s OK. It doesn’t all have to be heated passion and teeth like Jonah is accustomed to. They can just sit there, practically in each other’s laps, exploring the slick warmth of each other’s mouths. Jonathan’s hands once again fit into the curve of Jonah’s waist, and he pulls the other into his lap, so that Jonah is straddling him and their chests are pressed so close together that Jonathan can feel Jonah’s heartbeat. Small hands are running through Jonathan’s hair, learning the curve of his skull, and settling in the indent at his nape. Jonah pulls away, breathless, but his lips hover so close that Jonathan can’t help but steal a few quick pecks at the edge of his mouth. That makes him smirk, though there is still that sadness in his eyes. And Jonathan can’t help but smirk back.

“...Thank you,” Jonathan chuckles a little bit.

“For what?”

“For… I don’t know…” He feels a bit silly, crying in his friend’s arms, holding him in his lap, “...Letting me be…”

His hand moves a stray red curl off of Jonah’s forehead. Jonah straightens Jonathan’s glasses, which have gone crooked during their kissing.

"...Of course. I enjoy your company immensely, Jonathan…" There's a genuine tone to it that is often absent from Jonah's inflection, "...You're diligent, smart, always an excellent conversational partner… I'm afraid I'm terribly fond of you…"

Jonah's hand runs through his hair and down his cheek. He catches it and presses the palm against his lips.

"And I of you, Jonah."

Jonah nods slightly, satisfied with that answer. He motions with a slight turn of his head, "...Would you mind moving up the bed? If you're amiable to the idea, I'd like to put that fondness into practice."

Jonathan chuckled under his breath at that and complied. He certainly wasn’t going to say no to being pleasured by the man. He reclined against the pillows, and Jonah came up beside him, reaching for his glasses.

“W-Wait. I can’t see you without them. Please.”

Jonah is amused at that, vain creature that he is, and concedes. He presses his face into the crook of Jonathan’s neck, kissing along its length, and Jonathan is _very_ thankful for the high collars of current fashion, because Jonah begins sucking at his skin. His hands reach over to touch his lover’s back, and he finds his fingers pressing, almost grabbing, because Jonah bites over the bruise and Jonathan can’t help but moan.

“ _Oh_ , you liked that, didn’t you..?” That mischievous tone is back in Jonah’s voice, “I wonder, Dr. Fanshawe, what noises you’ll make if I litter your chest with bruises, too?”

Jonathan’s face goes bright red, and he immediately hides it under a hand. It makes the intolerable imp hovering over him laugh, because of course it does, and Jonah absentmindedly rubs a thumb over his nipple.

“You are _insufferably_ cute, Doctor, and I do so love to torture you.”

"...Y-Yes, well, never let it be said that I'm fearful of hardship…"

Jonathan takes a deep breath as Jonah runs his knuckle over the tops of his breasts, such a delightfully dull pain. The skin is flush now, sensitive, primed for Jonah to leave a bouquet of bruises. And Jonathan's mouth hangs open as the pain blooms, and the drag of a wet tongue over the wounds makes his eyelids _flutter_.

"...Beautiful. A sight just for me," Jonah presses his fingertips into those bruises, and it makes Jonathan breathless, "...You know, Doctor, the Greeks saw the nude male form as the truest representation of aesthetic beauty."

"...I presume you're inclined to agree..?" His breath stutters as Jonah's hand moves over his thigh.

"You presume correctly," Jonah starts shifting, and that makes him very nervous, "There are few things quite as pleasing as man shed of all his facades... Bare for me to explore, to know every facet of his being. It’s… Ecstatic. Almost a religious experience.”

Jonathan snorts and raises an eyebrow, “A _religious_ experience, Jonah? Really?”

“Yes, I do mean that. Sex is almost like… Mm, touching the divine.”

“You feel you come to know God through sex,” Jonathan stated in monotone.

“Or gods, yes.”

"You're a pagan, then?"

"Of a sort. Christianity has never sat well with me, and Deism is far too… Impersonal. No, whatever god or gods there are, they're intimately intertwined with our world, and certainly not benevolent. God can be terribly cruel… But isn't there a beauty in that cruelty?"

"And who do you serve, Jonah? Bacchus?"

"One would think, given my habits, but no. _Knowledge_ is my God. To know and be known, to be seen and to see others in their totality… That is the most beautiful thing in the world."

"That sounds about right," Jonathan watches, fixated on Jonah's mouth as it kisses a line down his abdomen.

"And what of you, Jonathan? You don't strike me as the type to attend service on Sundays."

"No, I'm not," Jonathan's breath stutters as Jonah licks a long line down his thigh, "I, uh, I agree that God, if he does exist, is cruel, and--ah, ahhh--"

Jonah’s chosen a spot on his inner thigh to suck on, and it steals the breath right out of Jonathan’s lungs. Talented lips tug at him, until there’s a deep red bruise on his dark skin, like a wine stain. And then that soft pink tongue runs over the wound in a broad stroke; the pain is _exquisite_ . Jonathan is staring, and Jonah knows he’s staring. They lock eyes, and Jonathan is _transfixed._

“Don’t stop talking. I like hearing you struggle.”

How is he supposed to speak when a statement like that makes his pulse quicken and face flush? But that’s the _point_ isn’t it, and he isn’t about to deny the little devil what he wants.

“Y-Yes,” _Bloody hell_ , Jonah is between his legs now, “G-God doesn’t seem to care much for Man; there’s an intolerable amount of evil in the world…”

Jonathan’s words trailed off because those glittering green eyes are mesmerizing him. The expression is intense and, were Jonah not mid-coitus, seemingly _vindictive_ in its intentions. The villain pulls two fingers agonizingly slowly over his cunt and cock, making his muscles tense in anticipation.

“Oh, you’re _wet_ for me already, you adorable thing, and I’ve only just touched your cock.”

“Y-Yes…” Jonathan breathlessly watches Jonah suck the slick off his fingers.

Jonah leans down, mouth so, so very close to Jonathan’s cock, “What about evil, Jonathan? Tell me.”

“T-There’s so much s-suffering…” Jonathan manages to pant out as Jonah starts making long, broad licks over his cock, “...Fuck, Jonah… I-I don’t believe any benevolent god would allow the kind of evil--J-Jesus--” He’s taken it in his mouth now; he’s sucking so diligently, “--I-I can’t, I can’t, Jonah, I can’t…”

“Oh, but you _can_ , Darling,” Jonah’s pushing against his inner thighs, spreading his legs even more apart, and Jonathan whines high and breathy at the absence of Jonah’s mouth on him, “Just a few more words, just for me… Yes…” Jonah slips a finger into him, so easy now, and another alongside it, “...You can do it, _Jonathan_ …”

“...Fuck, f-fuck…”

The sheen of sweat is thick on the doctor’s brow as he struggles to get out something more coherent than curses and Jonah’s name. His hips tilt up of their own accord, seeking to be closer to Jonah somehow, even though the man’s nose is in his curls and his tongue is pressed so firmly against him that the pressure nearly hurts. And those _fingers_ , those _fucking fingers_ , spearing him so deliciously and curling up into that white hot point of pleasure inside him.

“S-Shit!”

Jonathan cums after one particularly pointed suck, a blur of muscle spasms and Jonah’s name again and again, breathlessly like a prayer. And Jonah keeps _going_ . He's so rough now, because he knows Jonathan can take it, take the fast, forceful thrusts that make the doctor flinch and his toes curl. He's so _wet_ now. Slick is spurting out with every motion. He can feel it coating his thighs and soaking into the sheets beneath them, and when Jonah looks up at him, grinning, his chin is dripping Jonathan’s cum. His free thumb wipes it, a large streak, and he envelopes it in his mouth, leisurely sucking the arousal off of it.

"...Move your legs up for me, Darling… There you go, like that… And, would you hold them, please..? There’s a good man…”

Somehow, he finds the strength to do as Jonah asks, although his head is swimming and watching Jonah savor his taste makes him want to fuck the little demon into the mattress. He turns his knees to the side, holds his legs together and towards his chest, and curses himself for not bringing his strapon with him.

"...A-Are you trying to ensure I'm bedridden tomorrow..?" His voice comes out uncomfortably floaty and hoarse.

"...That was the plan," Jonah's grin has become something vicious now, "I'd say I'm doing an excellent job of it, wouldn't you, Doctor?"

It wasn’t the first time that night that there was something malicious in Jonah’s expression, but it is no longer hidden under a veil of gentility. The man looks like he wants to _devour_ Jonathan, and some small part of Jonathan’s presently clouded mind says that he would actually be willing to do it. Such an intense gaze from the man, from argus-eyed Jonah, from _always-discreet_ Jonah, who could extract secrets as easily as men could bleed--it makes Jonathan feel like he is being stripped to his very _core_ . Like Jonah has his heart and is _eating it_ and _smiling_.

And Jonathan is scared. Spikes of fear puncture his stomach, but that just makes him want Jonah _more_ . His lover’s grin is wolfish, and he wants those sharp teeth to sink into his thighs and pull muscle from tendon and bone. He wants it, god, he wants to be _consumed_. He feels Jonah’s hand back on him and leans his hips into it, which makes Jonah chuckle. He can’t keep his eyelids from fluttering and his mouth from opening while those fingers curl into him. One, two--fuck, fuck--a third, so tight and filling with his legs together. That horrible thumb presses against his cock, and Jonah’s hand clamps, like a vice, holding his cunt like he wants to own Jonathan, like Jonathan was something for him to possess. He is so full, so full of Jonah, completely claimed, and when his lover starts rubbing inside him, his world becomes one of pure sensation.

His breath stalls, and his lungs burn for air. He can hear nothing but his own blood pumping in his ears. There’s nothing but that thick, all-consuming spot of pleasure inside him and Jonah’s emerald eyes. He comes completely apart in Jonah’s hand, squirting hot arousal onto the sheets. He feels it dripping down his thighs, so warm and wet and everywhere, radiant heat that won't let him think of anything else but the cloud of ecstacy surrounding him.

For a minute, he’s completely dazed. He’s a panting, soaking mess, flushed and divorced from the present. The only thing that he can feel is that delicious glow that always comes after orgasm. His muscles go limp, and he flattens out, legs spreading. When his hearing comes back, he has to take his glasses off and run his hand over his face. He rubs his mouth, trying to process what he had just experienced, and he doesn’t need to see Jonah to tell that he’s smirking.

“...W-Wow, that’s, um…” Jonathan chuckles.

“Good, isn’t it?”

“Yes, God, yes…” Jonathan rubs his eyes, unable to keep himself from smiling, “That was amazing… Just give me a moment to recover…”

“You can rest, Jonathan. Really,” Jonah pats his leg.

Jonathan puts his glasses back on and folds his hands over his chest. He examines Jonah for a moment, and Jonah examines him in turn. He observes the flush on that pale, freckled face. That prideful bend of that mouth, the mouth that would look so much better open in a moan. The wet sheen of the curls near Jonah’s cunt, how they’re sticking together, because the man is obviously hard. Jonathan can’t help but think about how that cock would feel against his tongue, how Jonah’s thighs would feel pressed against his face. And, of course, the man’s hand is still soaked in Jonathan’s cum.

He motions for Jonah to come closer and takes his hand by the wrist. He seems surprised at first but that familiar smug expression returns when Jonathan takes his thumb in his mouth. Jonathan sucks his own cum eagerly off of each delicate finger, keeping his eyes on Jonah’s. He pulls the man close, so close that their noses almost touch.

“...I want to _taste_ you…” Jonathan growls, and he isn’t sure if it’s because his voice is hoarse from moaning or something deeper, “...I want your _cunt_ on my tongue…”

And Jonah is _eager_ for it, his eyes are just as wild as Jonathan’s are. Jonathan pulls his lover into a kiss, and it’s all teeth and passion and fury. They’re tangled together like animals in combat--two bucks whose antlers have caught together, so entwined they’ve become nearly one. Jonathan pushes him off for one second, one cursed second, to put his glasses on the nightstand, and he just as quickly pulls his lover back in, motions for those thighs to surround him, yes, yes, over him and on top of him. He leans up and pulls Jonah down by the hips in one motion, and the moan that comes from Jonah’s mouth is the most _divine_ sound in the world.

He's _hungry_ for Jonah; he's _voracious_ for him. He feels as though if he doesn't drink Jonah in, he'll die of thirst. He laps up and down that sweet slit, drinking in that taste, the delicious scent of his lover. He takes all of that slick wetness, all that leaked while watching _him_ lost in the throes of pleasure. His long fingers grasp so much of Jonah's buttocks in hand, and Jonah's cock grinds into his tongue, back and forth over it. _Jonah_ is setting the pace for his lover’s ministrations, because Jonah knows exactly what he wants. He can feel the man shuttering above him, hear every whine and moan vibrating through him, can imagine that lovely head thrown back in something like divine rapture, because Jonathan _is_ worshiping him. Jonathan wants to crush him and be crushed by him all the same. Wants Jonah laid on an altar or sitting on a throne, with Jonathan's head between his legs, always and forever. He wants to look up and see glory highlighting those auburn curls like a halo, see those freckled cheeks flushed and glistening with sweat. He wants the smell of sex heavy in the air as he worships _his Jonah, his, his, HIS_.

And when Jonah comes, it makes Jonathan feel like he's _won_ . Like he's touched the intangible. Like he's managed to hold _mist in his hand_. He can feel Jonah leaning heavily against the headboard, deflating because he just had the wind knocked out of him. He shifts off of Jonathan's face and collapses into a heap next to him, eyes half lidded and quite dreamy. They're both sweaty and unbearably hot, and Jonathan's got so much of Jonah on his chin that it's sliding down his neck. Yet, Jonah turns to him while smiling fondly and pats his cheek. And Jonathan smiles back.

"...Give me a moment, and I'll have the maid change the sheets…" Jonah strokes his face gently, "...Would you like to stay the night?"

"...I-I didn't bring my nightshirt…"

"...I always have a few larger ones with me for occasions such as this…"

Jonathan can't help but roll his eyes and chuckle, "...Of course you do."

After cleaning up after themselves, (Jonathan was suspicious of the maid, but apparently she was very aware of Jonah's… Proclivities) they collapse into bed together, exhausted. Jonathan sighs in contentment, finding Jonah's chest a very comfortable pillow, and wraps the man's arm around him. Jonah, naturally, still has a candle lit, and is reading through something or other, some dusty old tome with yellowed pages and a warped cover. It isn't surprising in the least, as Jonah is notoriously prone to overwork.

"What are you reading?"

"Oh this?" Jonah closes the book over his thumb, glancing at the cover, though there’s nothing written on it, "Just a stuffy bit of Latin, nothing that interesting…"

The answer is obviously evasive, especially for someone who is always all too eager to talk about his reading. Jonathan lets it go, however, deciding that it isn't worth the trouble. He instead lays against Jonah's side, happy to let his lover lazily card his fingers through Jonathan's hair, closes his eyes, and drifts off into a peaceful slumber.


End file.
